Even the Little Engine That Could.....Could
Ever since my youngest niece, Kate, was an infant, she has spent a portion of every fortnight staying over at my parent's house. She took up residence in my old room, she sleeps in my old bed, and she plays with my old dolls. She has a riot.

Lately, as she approaches her sixth year with us, we're finding things are not the Mardi Gras we usually enjoy.

There are tears, hysterical phone calls to 'Mama', rushed late-night drives out to the country. By the time my sister or her husband gets to the front door, this little waif is now wailing like she's been beaten and locked in the basement, not coddled and entertained. Childless Me is at a loss to understand this behavior.

"It's just a phase, relax," Mom says, like all this drama is just part of any normal day.

Last week, The Boy and I took Kate out to Mom and Dad's for dinner. We were really just the taxi service, as Kate would stay behind and again try to last the night in her 'other room', thus ending her phase. We were all kind of tiptoeing around the subject as dinner ended, then dishes, then dessert and conversation over coffee in the living room. I was just about ready to announce that Uncle Boy and I had to leave, when I heard her say quietly to herself, "I'm staying the night, I'm staying the night, I'm staying the night."

She was convincing herself that she could do it. She was calming herself with a four-year-olds mantra because she knew she would soon have to make the decision to stay or go.

Kate knew we all wanted her to do the strong thing and stay. She had more than likely been dwelling on the expectations of her family for the days leading up to our visit. And she wanted to be strong. She hugged and kissed and waved from the front window, but I still kept my cell phone on in case I got the call once we were out of the subdivision. The call never came, and Kate was triumphant. I'm so proud of her.

Maybe she could give her ol' Auntie some lessons.

People keep telling me that my continuing to try in the face of constant adversity is proof I'm a courageous being. My question is this: how long do you keep trying and failing before you're no longer courageous and actually more of a bona fide loser? When should you just throw in the towel, fold, abort the mission, end the agony that is
The Search for Meaningful and Rewarding Work? Should I just lower the bar, accepting that stagnant, monotonous jobs with two-dimensional, bitter shrews are all I'm good for? Praying for injury so I can avoid going into that Pit of Hell for a few days? Those are not the thoughts of a sane person.(Hey, do you suppose the fact I recognize that means I'm in my right mind? Whew. That's good, because I don't think you can get time off for being a nutter. Trust me, if you could, my cubicle neighbor would never be here).

Even as I write this, the little Type A voice in the back of my head is chastising me, telling me not to be a hypocrite, since I know damned well that I can't lower my bar. This is the same voice that asks me if I really want to go through the drive-thru, if I maybe should do some laundry today and don't I think I should yield to let in that asshole who zipped into the right lane when he knew damn well it was ending in 500m? That voice is not always my friend, but I'm also glad she's there. I'm always going to want to be an achiever, it's programmed into me.
I can't reformat this late in life.

I'm just really, really tired.

Posted at 1:51 p.m.